universe / single verse

on a starry night
being on the ancient earth
with Fox

rhythm
of the shaman’s drum
I breath Water

through the eye of Falcon the minutiae of the world

each breath
Wind in me
through me

Carpe Diem #385, “Flight of the Eagle”

On the subject of the last one, the air I breathe connects me too all things; the little puff of wind at my nostrils is the same stuff that storms are made of. I wrote the following poem some years ago now, but it deserves another airing. (forgive the pun)

What Wind Is

You think of wind
as storms in pines
or willy-willies on hot earth,
tornadoes or cyclones,
or snatching at your hat
or flipping your umbrella inside out.
You think of wind
as marks on weather maps,
arrows around the globe.
You think of wind
as a great big thing
inevitable off the sea,
rushing in to fill the space
where warmth rises from the land.

But…
think of it…
it is the little gasp
drawn through your teeth
or mouthed around her name
or whispered onto her nipple.

4 thoughts on “universe / single verse

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